Archer's Wake
by Red Witch
Summary: Missing Archer, the gang decides to hold a party in his honor. While drinking all his alcohol and going through his stuff.


** The disclaimer telling you that I don't own any Archer characters is resting in pieces. This is just madness from my tiny little brain while waiting for Season 10. Takes place right after my other story Moron Law. Hopefully Archer isn't dead. And this is the closest these lunatics will have to…**

**Archer's Wake **

"Fifteen boxes," Pam grumbled as she looked at the boxes scattered all over Archer's office in the Figgis Agency. "Archer has fifteen boxes full of crap."

"And most of them are either clothes or booze," Krieger looked over a box. "Where'd Ms. Archer go?"

"She took off," Cyril sighed as he looked around.

"Why would she stay? She already took her share of the loot," Cheryl shrugged as she sat in Archer's chair slowly spinning around.

"It's not loot," Pam corrected. "She just took some stuff."

"She gave away half a box of turtlenecks so she would get a discount for Woodhouse's funeral," Ray pointed out.

"As well as three ties and two shoes," Cyril added. "What are the odds the Reverend is the same shoe size as Archer? That's just weird."

"Where's Lana?" Krieger realized.

"Who cares?" Cheryl said. "I'm seriously asking."

"She took off to be with her daughter for the rest of the day," Pam grumbled. "I think that was mostly an excuse so she wouldn't have to pack and carry boxes."

"Wow," Ray looked at the boxes. "A man's life all coming down to a bunch of boxes. Kind of depressing if you think about it."

"Yeah," Cyril looked at a box. Then he started laughing.

"Cyril!" Pam gasped.

"Oh, **come on**!" Cyril snapped. "If this was **me**, you'd all be laughing your asses off! Wouldn't you?"

"Well there would certainly be a lot fewer boxes," Pam admitted. "But…yeah."

"Considering at least five of the boxes were all different kinds of alcohol," Cyril began.

"Five…" Cheryl looked at the boxes. "I only see three."

"Ms. Archer took the other two," Ray explained. "Honestly I'm amazed she left us **this **much."

"Probably saving them for later," Krieger shrugged.

"You know…?" Cyril took a bottle out of a box. "Some of these scotches and wines are really expensive. I bet if we sold some of these, we could get thousands of dollars for them."

"Or," Cheryl suggested as she got out of the chair. "We drink them right here and have a party."

Cyril shrugged. "Works for me."

"Me too," Krieger nodded as he grabbed a bottle.

"I'm all for that," Ray said as he grabbed a bottle.

"I can't **believe** you guys!" Pam snapped. "Archer's not even dead and you're already looting through his stuff! It's bad enough his mom does it…"

"You don't want anything to drink?" Cyril asked.

"I didn't say **that!"** Pam grabbed a bottle. "I just thought someone should point it out. You know? Have some respect for the guy. Ooh, Glengoolie Prime Gold! Jackpot!"

"Your devotion is touching," Cyril said sarcastically.

"Hey! I can miss Archer as well as enjoy some decent hooch," Pam pointed out as she opened up the bottle and had a swig. "Damn, that's good scotch."

"So, we're having a wake?" Cheryl asked.

"More like Wake Up Soon You Dumb Ass," Pam grumbled. "But I guess so."

"Suck it James Joyce," Cheryl grinned as she grabbed a bottle.

"Technically being shot and drowned by your famous movie star lover is a better way to go than just falling off a ladder," Cyril remarked after he took a sip. "And more interesting."

"Especially when you figure in the robot clone," Ray added before taking a drink from his bottle.

"Maybe we should do what they did in the book and throw alcohol on Archer?" Krieger suggested. "That might wake him up."

"I think Ms. Archer tried that already," Pam told him. "Didn't work."

"You actually read Finnegan's Wake?" Cyril asked Krieger.

"Well I read the cliff notes," Krieger shrugged as he took a drink. "Close enough. I'm not really good with deciphering stream of consciousness."

"In Archer's case," Ray spoke up. "More like a stream of unconsciousness."

"Look I know Archer is an asshole," Pam defended.

"Try the ultimate asshole," Cyril said.

"An Asshole's asshole," Ray said. "And that's **me** saying it!"

"He does know his assholes," Cheryl added.

"**Listen,"** Pam said. "We all have to say **one **nice thing about Archer. Okay? Just one nice thing Archer has done for us."

Cheryl paused. "Archer gave me some good orgasms. Does that count?"

Pam sighed. "Yes."

Cyril thought for a moment. "Well…If I'm to be completely honest…I guess I do owe Archer **some things.** If it wasn't for him constantly cheating and screwing around, I never would have had a shot with Lana. So technically…Archer's responsible for some good orgasms too."

"You said **some things**," Pam pointed out. "What else?"

Cyril took a drink. "Okay…Even though Archer has been nothing but a bully and a pain in the ass to me…I guess in a way he's made me a little tougher…I mean I did learn some pretty cool things thanks to him."

"How exactly has he made **you** _tougher_?" Cheryl asked. "The Pillsbury Dough Boy has thicker skin than you!"

"What exactly have you learned because of Archer?" Ray was curious.

"How to use a hotel comp to get a free hooker," Cyril admitted.

"That is important," Krieger nodded.

"Plus, I have to be honest," Cyril said. "As crazy as some of his schemes were…I did get to see a lot of the world because of him."

"You mean like the time he forced us at gunpoint to smuggle cocaine **into** Columbia?" Ray snapped. "And got us arrested, driven off a cliff, lost in a jungle, nearly eaten by alligators, shot at, nearly killed by not one but two sets of mercenaries and froze our asses off?"

"Oh," Cyril frowned. "Well when you put it like that…"

"Ray!" Pam groaned.

"The man was responsible for paralyzing me!" Ray snapped.

"Only three out of four times!" Pam snapped. "Oh wait…"

"That's still pretty bad," Cyril said.

"Although I admit," Ray groaned. "He can be a fun asshole when he wants to be. Still a major asshole but a fun one."

"You would know," Cheryl giggled as she took a drink.

"How about you Krieger?" Pam looked. "You like Archer, right?"

"Yes," Krieger said. "However, he was taking advantage of the drugs I had in my lab a lot. And stealing my good scotch I had hidden."

"So it wasn't just me?" Cyril remarked.

"No," Krieger frowned. "And I'm pretty sure he stole my tranquilizer gun which really pisses me off."

"Fine! **I'll go**!" Pam rolled her eyes. She took a drink. "Archer is one of the best friends I ever had…"

"Wow," Cheryl remarked. "You have set the bar pretty low!"

"But Archer has been with me through good times and bad," Pam said.

"Like the times he beat you up with your own dolphin puppet," Ray added. "And you had to get stitches."

"Well…" Pam paused.

"The Fat Joke List he circulated around the office," Cyril added. "Four times!"

"That was **him?**" Pam did a double take.

"Technically Archer was the one who got you hooked on cocaine," Krieger added. "The body cast thing was his idea."

"Well…" Pam began. "I did get super skinny for a while."

"You got pretty close to death for a while," Ray pointed out.

"The time he threw off all your clothes on the balcony and left you naked?" Cheryl added. "Oh, wait that was me."

"No, he did that to me too," Pam remembered. "During that one Christmas party. I nearly froze to death on that roof!"

"How about when you first came to work at the agency?" Krieger asked. "And Archer put up a pig balloon with your face on it."

"That was him **too**?" Pam shouted. "I thought that was Brett?"

"And who **told you** it was Brett?" Cyril asked.

"Son of a bitch…" Pam was stunned. "So I punched Brett in the nuts for **nothing?**"

"I wouldn't say that," Ray shrugged. "It was kind of funny on how he vomited all over Ms. Archer's rug. And got blamed for it."

"The times Archer stuck you with the bar tab," Ray added. "Or stole money from your purse when you were passed out."

"I just thought I drank a lot," Pam blinked.

"To be fair you did," Cyril said. "Oh, remember the time Archer thought it would be funny to put a laxative in your bearclaws?"

"That was him **again?**" Pam shouted. "I spent nearly the entire day in the john!"

"How is that any different than **a normal day**?" Cheryl asked her.

"Oh, remember when about seven years ago you applied for that HR job at this really big corporation?" Cyril added. "And you asked Archer to mail your application for you because you were busy that day. And you never heard back?"

"Don't tell me…" Pam's jaw dropped. "He forgot to mail it didn't he?"

"No," Cyril said. "He just put it through the shredder. Thought it would be funny."

"Son of a…" Pam fumed.

"**Great friend**, wasn't he?" Cyril asked sarcastically.

"That's it!" Pam snapped as she went to a box and opened it up. "I'm taking his Gator DVD!"

"I thought you would have taken his Cannonball Run?" Ray asked.

"I already have that one," Pam waved as she took the DVD out. "Hey! He even has the collector's edition of Evening Shade! Score!" She took that too. "I know what I'm watching tonight."

"I'm taking a couple of turtlenecks," Ray went into another box. "Hell, some of these still have the price tags on them! He never wore these!"

"I'm taking some turtlenecks he actually wore," Cheryl went into another box. She took a turtleneck out and smelled it. "Hmm…Expensive cologne and bourbon."

"You're going to put it on and roll around in it aren't you?" Pam asked.

"Yeah," Cheryl giggled as she took it.

"I could go either way," Krieger shrugged. "One of each for me."

"Well that isn't completely disturbing at all," Cyril rolled his eyes. "This box is full of trophies."

"Remember all those stupid Spy of the Year banquets Ms. Archer would put on?" Ray asked.

"_Remember?"_ Pam snapped. "I was the one who helped set up the damn decorations! And not once did I ever get a freaking award!"

"That's because the only award she gave was to Archer," Ray snapped. "Every damn year she'd make the entire office go to some private room in a restaurant and give Archer a fake award so she could get a discount on a meal."

"Remember how Lana used to think she would get an award for several years before she caught on?" Cheryl snickered. "And she thinks I'm dumb."

"Cheryl honey," Ray looked at her. "Every year you thought it was a birthday party for you. And it was nowhere **near **your birthday!"

"Well I thought it was a surprise party," Cheryl shrugged.

"Six months **after** your birthday?" Ray asked.

"I thought you guys were getting a jump on next year," Cheryl shrugged.

"The food was good at those parties," Krieger admitted. "Too bad we had to pay for our meals."

"Except of course for Archer and his leech of a mother," Pam grumbled. "She'd always attach their tabs to some moron's."

"Hang on…" Cheryl blinked. "Son of a bitch."

"Yup," Pam nodded.

"Still think that party was for **you**?" Ray asked.

"Not anymore!" Cheryl snapped. "But when Ms. Archer kicks the bucket, I will throw a huge ass one!"

"I'll go to that one," Ray said.

"Me too," Cyril nodded.

Pam took another drink from her bottle. "Besides the food the only good thing about those stupid Spy of the Year awards was the backhanded compliments Ms. Archer would give her son. And then Archer would lose his temper and start throwing stuff."

"Usually at me," Cyril grumbled.

"Why did we stop having those awards dinners anyway?" Cheryl asked.

"Three reasons," Cyril explained. "One, every time Archer hit another agent at that banquet, that agent would up and quit our agency. We'd lose at least two to five agents a year at those things."

"Remember that one year Archer brought out that fire extinguisher?" Pam asked. "I lost half of my HR department that day. Ms. Archer never did find any replacements."

"The second reason was that with all the incidents and fights at these banquets…" Cyril added. "Word got around and our agency soon became blacklisted at all the fancy restaurants."

"Is that why we never had the banquet at the same place twice?" Cheryl asked.

"That and some places burned to the ground," Cyril looked at Cheryl.

"No one ever **proved **I had anything to do with those fires," Cheryl said smugly. "Suck on it, Arson Squad!"

"What was the third reason?" Krieger asked. "Why did we stop those banquets?"

"Why do you **think?"** Cyril snapped. "I'll give you a clue, the last one was scheduled a week after Ms. Archer's birthday."

"Wait you mean when the office was shut down to run _a cocaine cartel_?" Pam asked.

"No Pam," Cyril rolled his eyes. "I mean when the office was shut down so we could all go fight aliens in outer space. Yes! Because of the whole cocaine cartel scheme, we lost all the other employees."

"I guess even Ms. Archer thought it was pointless to hold a Spy of the Year banquet when we were technically no longer spies," Ray realized.

"Exactly," Cyril nodded. "And when we got reinstated there was no point in starting that exercise in futility again. I guess Ms. Archer forgot all about it, and nobody reminded her."

"Well maybe if she gave us a few awards too…" Pam shrugged.

"I know right?" Cyril took out a trophy in the shape of a pyramid. "I mean it's not much but it's the thought that counts."

"You know that positive reinforcement is practically a foreign language to the Archers," Ray scoffed before he took a drink. He looked in another box. "Look at this. The man must have like fifty trophies. And I know half of them are made up ones from his mother."

"He's got plenty of lacrosse trophies he's **actually earned**," Pam pointed out. "As well as a participation trophy from a tennis league."

"Fourth place **bowling trophy**?" Ray picked one up. "When did he get **that?** Archer hates bowling."

"Now we know why," Krieger remarked.

"I have an idea," Cyril went to the desk and took out his wallet.

"What are you doing?" Ray asked as Cyril took out a piece of paper.

"Making a phone call," Cyril told him as he punched in the number.

"For **what?**" Cheryl snickered as she drank some more. "Are you going to order a backbone?"

"Hello? Hollywood Engraving?" Cyril spoke into the phone. "I have a question. Can you do that thing when you sand one person's name off of a trophy and put **another one** on? You do? All the time with awards. Especially old Oscars. Oh good. Then you don't have a problem with it. Well you would be amazed how many do. I know right?"

"Cyril!" Ray protested. Then he held up a Spy of the Year Trophy. "Ask them if they do group rates."

"If they do," Pam took out a trophy. "I want in."

"Me too," Krieger took out a trophy.

"That's a lacrosse trophy," Pam pointed out.

"So?" Krieger asked.

"Yes, my name is Cyril Figgis," Cyril said. "I'm a premium member. Oh? A discount this week? Twenty five percent off all engravings and an extra ten percent for ten or more items? Sounds good to me. Yes, I will be there tomorrow morning. It doesn't matter if they are different names on different trophies, right? Oh good. Thank you very much! Goodbye."

"Thirty percent off," Krieger mused. "That's a good deal for engraving."

"Okay new plan," Cyril said. "We go through Archer's boxes taking a few things we want. We each get two trophies to engrave for whatever reason we want. And we spend tonight eating takeout, drinking Archer's alcohol and watching an Evening Shade marathon. Who's with me?"

"I'm in," Ray said.

"Me too," Krieger said.

"Sounds good to me," Pam said. "You guys want Chinese or Italian?"

"How about Chinese and Italian?" Ray suggested.

"Why not?" Pam went to the phone.

"Now this is a kick-ass wake," Cheryl grinned.

"This is nothing compared to the one I'll throw if Archer actually dies," Cyril grinned.

"Cyril!" Pam snapped.

"I said I would **pay** for it!" Cyril protested. "And I'll have an open bar."

"Oh well as long as there's an open bar," Pam relented.

"And he offered to pay," Ray pointed out. "I mean Archer made him pay enough in life."

"What's one last time?" Cyril asked.

"Will you have a buffet?" Pam asked.

"Why not?" Cyril asked. "Hell, I'll have a mariachi band if people want that."

"I'd want that," Cheryl said.

"Me too," Krieger said.

"Okay since you **are** paying for it," Pam said. "And you are going to have an open bar and a buffet and a mariachi band…Damn it. Now I'm looking forward to Archer dying."

"He is dragging this whole coma thing out way too long," Krieger shrugged. "As fun as it is…"

"Yeah I know," Pam sighed. She raised her bottle. "To Archer. Whichever way this goes and however it ends…Just let it **end already**!"

"Yeah!" Cheryl agreed as she raised her bottle. "Mariachi bands are so expensive! And they have to be booked in advance!"

"Okay let's get some food and strike up the DVD player," Ray said.

"I'll drink to that," Krieger grinned.

The following morning…

"As much as I hate quoting Mallory," Lana sighed as she looked at the mess in the Figgis Agency bullpen. "What fresh hell is **this?"**

The bullpen was a mess. There was food and takeout boxes everywhere. As well as paper airplanes. The members of the Figgis Agency were lying all over the place and the monitor was on but it just had static on.

"Oh, hey Lana," Ray yawned as he stretched in a chair. His jacket and tie were off and his clothes were rumpled.

"Big night?" Lana asked.

"Ehhh…" Ray looked around. "So. So. We just ordered takeout and watched an Evening Shade marathon."

"How far did we get?" Cheryl asked. She was lying on the couch only wearing a black turtleneck.

"I think we only got as far as season two," Ray groaned. "Some of Archer's scotch has a kick."

"Oh," Krieger spoke up. He was wearing only his lab coat and underwear. "We also had a paper airplane contest. But to be honest we forgot to keep score."

"Still a fun night," Cyril admitted, his clothes were rumpled as well and he was sitting on the floor next to Pam.

"Okay I have to ask," Lana sighed. "Why did you guys have an Evening Shade marathon?"

"Because we didn't want to watch Gator," Pam said honestly. Her clothes and hair were rumpled too.

"It was a dry run for the real wake we're going to have if Archer kicks the bucket," Cheryl explained.

"WHAT?" Lana gasped.

"It's okay," Pam waved slightly hung over. "Cyril is going to pay for it and he's gonna have a buffet and an open bar and a mariachi band."

"A _mariachi band?"_ Lana did a double take. "What no DJ?"

"I thought about that," Cyril sighed. "But then I thought that would be just tacky."

"Is that one of Archer's turtlenecks?" Lana pointed to Cheryl.

"Not anymore," Cheryl giggled. "It's so warm and scotch-y."

"And I'm going to take a guess that the DVDs you were watching belong to Archer," Lana groaned.

"Again, not anymore," Pam said. "Hey! He cost me a job! The least he owes me is some Evening Shade!"

"And some good scotch," Cyril spoke up. "Which we drank. A lot."

"To be fair," Krieger added. "Not as much as Ms. Archer…I mean she took two boxes worth."

"I don't know why I am _surprised,_" Lana groaned. "I shouldn't be anymore but I am. I guess I should be grateful nothing's **on fire**!"

"I knew there was something I forgot to do last night," Cheryl blinked.

"To be fair Lana," Ray looked around. "This isn't exactly the biggest mess we made in here."

"Not even the biggest mess we made **this week**," Krieger nodded. "And since it's only what? Tuesday or Wednesday…"

"I'm sure we have plenty of time this week to make bigger messes," Cheryl nodded. "We seem to hit our stride on the weekends."

Milton rumbled in and popped some toast. "Milton!" Pam cheered. "Yeah I could go for some toast."

"I could go for some sanity…" Lana turned around and began to leave. "I think I'll go find some."

"If you find any," Cyril sighed. "Could you bring me back some?"

"Noooooope," Lana said as she left.

"Well it was worth a shot," Cyril sighed.


End file.
